


i carry your heart

by AmiLu



Series: Soulmate AUs [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Flame Harmonization (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Short Chapters, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13822080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmiLu/pseuds/AmiLu
Summary: Harry is six the first time he can read his words. Sixteen years after he was cursed, Skull hasn't even seen them once yet.(Many years later, they find each other.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. I have already two other KHR/HP crossover fics waiting to be updated. But what can I say? I started this one a long time ago and I got inspired to continue it the other day. This one should be rather short...
> 
> Please, enjoy! :)

 

 

> _i carry your heart with me(i_ _carry it in_
> 
> _my heart)i am never without it(anywhere_
> 
> _i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done_
> 
> _by only me is your doing,my darling)_
> 
> _—e. e._ cummings; [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

 

**1**

It's long before he can understand them that Harry first notices the words on his arm.

He's confused and vaguely alarmed as _they weren't there just a minute ago_ and instinctively rubs at the purple lines that curl elegantly on his forearm, expecting them to blur.

They don't.

Nothing happens to them no matter what Harry tries, and it's not until he's about to give up and look for something to cover them with that they vanish, leaving behind nothing but soft tanned skin. Startled, Harry looks at the spot with round eyes for some time, but the lines don't come back.

He checks the next day, and the day after that, and when he doesn't see them again, he forgets. Well, at least he does until the moment they appear again, months later.

Blotchy and purple, the lines don't make any sense to him at all. More curious than anything else this time, he decides to take the risk and asks his aunt about them.

(It's the first time he remembers her answering him with the full truth.)

“That's a lie,” she says, a little distracted as she is scrubbing a plate. Her tone is curt but not snappish, and Harry listens with growing curiosity as she continues, “A lie your soulmate is now telling about you. Every person has a soulmate, and when they tell a lie—to you, to him or herself, or to other people about you—the lie will appear written on your arm in their handwriting.” She puts the sponge away and rinses the plate out before putting it to dry, then wipes her hands on her apron and sniffs. “So—a lie. Now you know, so get back to your chores, boy, before your uncle comes back.”

Wisely, Harry doesn't ask her to read his mark aloud and instead does as he's told. He doesn't need to know what it says yet, anyway. He'll learn to read, and _then_ he'll be able to understand it without any help.

***

When he's six and has both new glasses and freshly acquired reading skills, he is finally able to read his mark. After everything he's heard about soulmates at school, he's more than a little excited.

“I don't care,” Harry mouthes the words carefully as he reads, then frowns. He looks at them long and hard, squinting to better focus on the curly purple lines, and then tries again.

 _“I don't care,”_ Harry repeats, feeling more than a little confused. What? “But—”

Oh. _Oh._

His eyes sparkle and he smiles—bright and delighted—as he _understands._

(His soulmate _cares!)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst ahead (Skull deserves a hug).

2

 

Skull is loud, obnoxious, and a coward. He screams and laughs uproariously; he complains and whines and annoys his fellow Arcobaleno on purpose, even when he knows that Reborn is trigger-happy and Colonello won't hesitate to punch him around. Sometimes he can even manage to irritate Lal to the point of making her want to shoot at him, and that's when all hell breaks loose. The threat of bodily harm is inconsequential to him, however—he knows he'll heal. It's the attention he's after, and doesn't that say something about him, when he's happy even though they're after his blood?

_(Better this than alone.)_

He squeals, docks and hides behind Oodako, trembling without really being afraid. It's an act he's polished to perfection, a mask nobody questions, and it serves him well. Sure, the other Arcobaleno are pretty scary, but he doesn't actually _fear_ them.

He's practically immortal, after all.

(If they don't believe him, well, that's not his fault. It's not like he hasn't _told_ them.)

“Come here, Lackey!” Reborn growls, dark eyes sparkling with a hint of malice. Skull squeaks once before he covers his mouth with a gloved hand and vigorously shakes his head. _“Lackey…!”_

Oodako, bless her beautiful soul, wraps a tentacle around his tiny body and hauls him over her head before high-tailing out of there. Skull laughs in delight as he turns and, mockingly, pulls down his lower eyelid and sticks his tongue out at the hit-man.

“I'M THE GREAT SKULL-SAMA, YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME!” he howls, then ducks to avoid the rain of bullets directed at him. He keeps laughing until he's well out of danger, and only then does he stop.

His mirth disappears, evaporating as if it was never there to begin with, and Oodako slows down. She makes a soft, questioning sound to which Skull responds with a soft pat to her bulbous head.

“I'm fine, girl,” he assures her, but the clicking sound she makes in response lets him know she doesn't believe him. His lips pull up in a crooked, brittle mockery of a smile as his right hand ghosts over the covered skin of his left arm. “I don't care.”

Whoever said that octopuses couldn't glare is an idiot, Skull decides as Oodako pins him down with reproachful, narrowed eyes. He sighs and admits defeat. It's not like he hasn't opened up to her already; Oodako is probably the only living being that knows him, the _real_ him.

“Of course I care. When he said that… it hurt.” Skull closes his eyes and tips his head up, trying to forget the way his stomach had dropped at the taunt. It's nothing new, but the pain doesn't change. It's always the same tearing, fiery ache in the pit of his stomach, in his lungs, in his heart. But then again, Skull has been hurting for far too long, and he's losing hope that he will ever stop. “I may look like this, but I'm already thirty-four. It's been sixteen years since the Fated Day, and still there has been not a line in my arm. Maybe I simply don't have a soulmate. Maybe they're dead. Maybe my curse makes me undeserving of them.” He shrugs, tries to smile again to appear unconcerned.

Going by Oodako's disbelieving look, he doesn't quite manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wiki doesn't say and I'm not quite sure if we're ever told whether Oodako is a boy or a girl octopus? I decided to go with 'girl' just because the 'ko' ending in Japanese is—usually—used for girl names *shrugs*


	3. Chapter 3

3

 

Soulmates and mysteriously appearing words aside, Harry hadn't been prepared for _actual magic._

A complete world of witches and wizards, flying brooms and enchanted castles filled with ghosts—

It continues to be mind-boggling, even now as he sits together with the redhead called Ron _(his first friend!)_ inside the Hogwarts' Express. His destination? Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he's going to experience his first year of magical education.

He can't yet believe that he's a wizard, that his _parents_ were wizards, that they did not die in a car crash but saving his _life_ from a bad wizard who was trying to kill him. That he is famous, even after the episode at the Leaky Cauldron when Hagrid took him to Diagon Alley, or after Ron asked to see his scar.

It just doesn't make sense. Little Harry? A hero? Impossible. Not when he's nobody but a boy raised under the stairs. He doesn't say anything, however, because what if they realize they've made a mistake and then send him back?

Harry is not sure he'll be accepted, but he'll try to fit in. He won't go back to the Dursleys. Not before he absolutely has to—and never again if there is anything he can do about it. (Surely with magic, his situation is going to change?)

(It doesn't.)

He is accepted well enough, except for the members of Slytherin House and his Potions professor, who's a real dick. Harry finds his second best friend in a bushy-haired girl when he saves her together with Ron from a troll on Halloween. The three of them help Hagrid with a baby dragon, lose a lot of points, win a lot of points after the Philosopher's stone's debacle and the fight with the possessed Quirrelmort and then win the House Cup.

He asks the Headmaster if it's possible to stay at Hogwarts during summer, but the answer is no, and he has to go back to the Dursleys once more, to be quiet and talked down to and ordered around.

(The only thing that makes his summer bearable after Dobby ruined Vernon's dinner with the Masen's is the appearance of the script in his arm. Purple, as always, and in another language. It's not uncommon, Harry has noticed. His soulmate mostly uses English, but there are other languages involved. Usually Italian, if his curiosity-fuelled research at the library is to be believed, but sometimes his arm is full of pretty characters that look complicated and very Asian. He still hasn't deciphered what they are, but he believes them to be Chinese, or maybe Japanese. Harry does not claim to be very knowledgeable about languages, though he wants to learn. His soulmate speaks at least three, so he should try, too.

This time, the lie is written in the pretty characters and Harry pouts. Italian he can understand a bit, if only to sound out the words. This—he can't do anything but stare at his arm until the ink completely disappears.

He's glad, anyway. Even if he does not know what it says, it is there. He has proof that there is someone out there for him, someone who will like Harry for being Harry, no questions asked. That knowledge lets him soldier on, wait it out.

When Ron and his brothers come for him, Harry is hungry and a bit lonely, but his spirit is fierce.

He'll not give up.

Never.)


	4. Chapter 4

4

 

Skull groans as he sits up, head throbbing dully in muted pain. He can feel the warm heat of his flames dissipating, reabsorbing into his skin and he _knows_ he has failed his mission.

There are no voices nor any other sound apart from his own harsh breathing, so the fray must be long over. The group he had been in charge of has probably been completely annihilated.

He twitches as he struggles to stand. The sharp pain in his side which hints at recently mended broken ribs makes it difficult, but he manages, and then he looks around cautiously.

There are at least twenty bodies scattered around him in the darkened room, hours dead. One of them is half on top of him, restraining his legs. He studies the man with narrowed eyes, trying to see him beneath all the blood that's matted to his hair and staining his suit.

It's Marco.

Skull flinches and then mourns, because Marco was a good boy who got tangled in the Mafia just because he had activated his Flames in a place where there were witnesses. He was a lightning, a little brash and inconsiderate, but a good kid nonetheless. He had been one of the small handfuls of people that tolerated or even liked Skull's exaggerated act, and Skull is sad to see him dead.

He closes his eyes and hangs his head for a minute in silent prayer, and then carefully maneuvers the body away from him.

Standing up, he looks himself over and frowns, disgusted with all the blood and grime that clings to his leather suit. He will have to burn it. It is not salvageable anymore.

Sighing, Skull searches for his missing helmet and then stealthily escapes the warehouse. He does not know if more people are going to show up soon or not, but he does not intend to stay to find out. Three against at least thirty, when the debrief has stated that at most there'd be five in patrol... Yeah, no. Skull recognizes a trap when he sees one, even if it's only in hindsight.

Maybe he should stop being freelance and try to join a Family. If he is lucky, they'll have his back when it's needed.

(Sometimes he thinks that it's a good thing his soulmate is not in the picture. He really does not fancy the idea of dragging them into the blood and cut-throat politics that is the world of the Mafia. Backstabbing and mortal danger are common currency, and unless they are strong, they'll get eaten alive.

Skull almost was, and the only thing that saved him was his flames.

He doesn't want this life for his soulmate, but—

But he _aches.)_


	5. Chapter 5

Harry does not particularly care about the gender of his soulmate. They are there, have always been there, and they want Harry—he knows that with certainty, without a single doubt. It's clear in every lie he glimpses scrawled on his arm in purple ink from time to time. They exist, and they want Harry—that's all Harry cares about.

As much as he likes magic, as much as he likes his friends, Harry has come to the realization that Wizarding Britain and people, in general, are fickle. They cheer on him and love him when he's doing what they expect; they suspect him and hate him when it suits them best.

Take second year, for example. Or fourth. Both were nightmares, but they are nothing compared to his fifth. This one is the worst.

Being called an attention seeking liar by the Ministry is bad enough, but when most of the school actually believes the Skeeter woman when she says that he's probably deranged and dangerous, Harry has to ground his teeth and take deep breaths to avoid exploding.

At least he tries to.

He successfully keeps it inside until the first class of Defence, when the pink toad that Hermione swears is a plant of the Ministry (and Harry is not inclined to doubt his brilliant friend) effectively goads him into a shouting match that ends with him in detention.

(It sucks.)

(It's even worse when he goes to McGonagall later on and she advises him to just keep his head down and bear with it.)

His friends rope him into creating a group to teach Defence to whoever wants to learn, and suddenly Harry finds himself the leader of a bunch of teenagers that call themselves Dumbledore's Army.

And then the dreams start.

The _visions._

Mister Weasley is attacked some days before Christmas and Harry is able to alert the Order in time to save him, but he's scared. He's scared because he witnessed it, because it felt as if it was _him_ the one who attacked. But at the same time, he feels that the dreams are useful, so he is not really keen on learning how to Occlude his mind when Sirius and Snape inform him about Dumbledore's decision.

(He's also a bit spiteful, because the Headmaster has been ignoring him the whole year. He hasn't even looked at Harry in the eyes, not even when he appeared at his hearing in August.)

The lessons start soon after they are back at Hogwarts, and they are hell. Harry only continues attending them because of Hermione's pleading, but he knows it's just a matter of time as both Harry and Snape hate each other too much to keep going through them.

It's Valentine's when Cho finally manages to approach him. She has tried to do so since the beginning of the school year, but Harry has successfully avoided being left alone with her until now. She asks him out on a date, but Harry politely declines.

“You are not my soulmate,” he says, and the girl desperately looks at her bare arm with hope, but his words are not there. Her eyes fill with tears but they don't fall, and Harry pities her just a bit. The girl is pretty, and he can admit that he had thought of dating her the year before, but… But he doesn't really feel comfortable with the idea, and he doesn't want to lead her on. He has his soulmate, and he is in no hurry to experience all the things everyone says his teenage-hormones should be making him feel. He has a war to focus on, romance can wait. (He hopes.)

“We could date anyway? Until you meet her, of course?” Cho suggests anyway, though without much hope.

Harry shakes his head. “I'm sorry, but no. I simply don't feel comfortable dating other people while I wait for them to show up.”

She nods jerkily and scampers off, and Harry feels a twinge of sympathy for her plight, but does not reconsider.

It is later that day that Ron dubiously asks why he never refers to his soulmate as 'she'.

“I just… well, I think it is quite rude to assume, right?” he states sharply. It isn't his intention to sound so snappish, but in his defense, he's tired. The dreams keep coming and he is not sleeping well; his hand hurts from the last session with the Blood Quill and he still has to plan the next DA meeting and everything is getting on his nerves.

“All right, I get you,” Ron says, placating. “I was just wondering. It'd be weird if your soulmate was a guy, but hey. They might be, and you're right. It'd be rude to just assume they're a bird.” He hesitates a second, but then turns serious. “If they turn out to be a guy though, you know that I'll be fine with it, right?”

Harry breathes out a relieved sigh and suddenly feels lighter, as if an invisible weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He grins lopsidedly at his best friend and nods, green eyes flashing in gratitude.

It's true he doesn't care whether his soulmate is male or female, but he has been worried about being rejected by his friends if they turn out to be male. Ron's honest acceptance means so much to him that he's not sure he'll ever be able to put it into words.

“Thanks, mate.”

Ron's ears turn red and he waves Harry away with a huff. “Go to sleep, man. You're dead on your feet,” he grumbles, and Harry snickers.

“Sir, yes, sir!” He salutes the other teen with a serious face and then he has to dodge the cushion aimed at his face. Cackling, he runs up the stairs to the boys' dormitory and prepares to take a quick shower before going to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

_I don't care if I never find them._

Skull stares.

The water has long turned cold in the shower as the adult-turned-baby stares as his arm in stunned disbelief mixed with hopeful wonder. As the orange letters start to fade, he lifts a chubby arm and with reverent fingers, he traces the chicken scratch until it dissolves completely.

He feels breathless—his stomach is fluttering and his lungs are protesting, and he's sure that he will start hyperventilating if he doesn't calm down soon.

(But it's so _difficult._ Because Skull has been waiting forever to see words in his arm, has always tried to deny that it hurt when he doesn't see them, and suddenly they are _right there.)_

He sits on the floor, cold water still hammering down on him, still staring at his now ink-free flesh.

There is no sound for a couple of minutes but for the one the shower makes, and then—

Then Skull is laughing. Heartily, truthfully, full of relief and wonder and longing; tears freely spill down his face and get washed away by the shower.

It's liberating, filled with utter happiness, because after more than thirty years since he started looking for words in his arms, after twenty-five years under the curse that turned him into an infant, he finally, finally has confirmation that his soulmate _exists._

Skull doesn't care that he's so much older than the other (he's a baby and unable to age, anyway); he doesn't care that his life is crazy and complicated and that they probably won't ever have a 'normal' relationship. Skull doesn't care at all. His soulmate exists, and they want to meet him. That's all that matters right now.

Skull hiccups and stops laughing when an idea hits him. He's not sure if it will work; he hasn't really heard of anybody attempting it, but he has to at least try. If it doesn't, he'll be disappointed, sure. But if it does—

He focuses on the idea of his soulmate and speaks aloud.

“I won't wait for you.”

He waits for a heartbeat, breath caught in his throat, but nothing happens. He huffs, disappointed, but doesn't yet give up. The other might be wearing long sleeves at the moment, for all Skull knows.

(After all, it was pure luck that the writing had not disappeared from his arm before Skull took off his bodysuit to shower. If he hadn't, he would have missed it, and that knowledge is a little daunting. Worse, even, is to suddenly be hit with the epiphany that there might have been others that he _missed._ Skull hasn't bared his arms voluntarily unless it was absolutely necessary _for years,_  hasn't really _looked,_ and so he cannot fault his soulmate if that's the case.

He'll give it an hour.)

Slowly, unsteadily, he gets to his feet and turns the shower off. He's cold but he doesn't really feel it as he towels his tiny body dry and, after ransacking his closet a bit, quickly puts on a cotton t-shirt with short sleeves.

It's a bit early to start dinner, but Skull doesn't feel up to doing anything else. He cooks while continuously peeking at his left arm, hoping to see a new message appear on his skin, and the distraction costs him as he ends up with overcooked convenience store pasta, soggy-looking and completely unappetizing. Skull scowls at it, but then he notices his arm take an orange tint from the corner of his eye and his ruined dinner is promptly forgotten as he reads: _My name is not Harry._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... not completely happy with this one, but meh. Happy reading!

The day he starts talking to Skull _(his soulmate!)_ marks a startling change in Harry's routine. Sure, he keeps going to class, keeps attending DA meetings, keeps getting detention with the toad but now, instead of doing all his homework with his friends in the common room after dinner, he usually goes to bed an hour early. Not to sleep, no, but to talk.

Speaking in lies is more difficult that he could ever have imagined, and now Harry kind of understands why nobody he knows uses their marks this way (Hermione and Ron don't need it—once they realized they had each other's lies on their skin, the tensions that started in their fourth year ceased and their communication improved; Dean and Seamus have known since they met in the first year; Neville hasn't seen any in his skin, not yet, which means that their soulmate doesn't lie—or has not been born yet. Petunia has Vernon's; Dudley can't care less. Other people… he doesn't know. Marks are a private thing, after all.)  
  
But his. He knows, somehow, that his soulmate is older, and that he doesn't know of Harry's world. He's not a wizard and has never put a foot in Hogwarts or Magical Britain. Harry doesn't know when will it be safe for them to meet, but it isn't now. Not with the threat of Voldemort hanging over his head. (He won't put Skull in danger by meeting him before this war ends.)  
  
So, all things said, speaking through their marks is the only way they are able to communicate for now, and so they make the most of it.  
  
And they learn.  
  
Harry learns so much about his soulmate, about his mismatched crazy family and their antics, about the world outside Hogwarts and Great Britain. It's a wonder he still can even focus in class.  
  
Of course, his change in routine makes his friends wonder, and after a solid week of this new behaviour, Hermione has to ask.  
  
(Why hadn't Harry told them before? He isn't completely sure. Because it was new, maybe. Because he wanted to have something completely to himself, if only for a little while. Marks are a private thing, after all, so why should he even speak about it? Still, he's not really surprised when Hermione asks, and he doesn't begrudge her her curiosity, after all, he isn't one for secrets, usually.)  
  
“I'm talking to my soulmate,” he says, shrugging awkwardly when both her eyes and Ron's widen in surprise. “We figured a way.”  
  
“Can I see?” asks Hermione hopefully, but not demandingly. Harry hesitates, hand covering his arm in an unconscious gesture of protection. She must see his struggle, because she immediately backpedals. “No, it's okay, really. I shouldn't have asked.”  
  
Harry lets out a soft sigh and smiles at her. “Thank you, but—here.” He extends his arm and uncovers it, letting them see it because he _trusts_ them.

Twin surprised inhalations startle him into asking, “What?”  
  
“They are purple, Harry. _P_ _urple,”_ says Ron.  
  
Puzzled, Harry tilts his head to one side, then nods. “Yeah. And?”

“They are… extremely rare.”

“What? What do you mean, rare?”

“Like. I don't know. Mine are black. My whole family has black markings. Hermione's are, too.” He shrugs. “I have heard of people with coloured markings, but I haven't met anyone. Fred and George said once that they met someone with yellow markings, but I'm not sure I believe them.”

Harry's eyebrows rise in surprise. He has never seen other people's marks, and was never curious enough to read more about them, so he hadn't known that.   
  
“I think…” Hermione chews absently on her lip, and her eyes lose focus. Harry and Ron exchange confused glances but don't interrupt, recognizing that she's trying to remember something. “I've read a lot about this, both from Muggle and Magical sources, and there's no agreement about the whys of the soulmarks, or their colours. Yes, most people have black marks, but there are also other colours like green, red, yellow, blue, indigo, purple, and orange. Why those? Nobody knows. However… the only thing every book I've read about marks agree on is that, among coloured markings, orange are the rarest, with purple not so far behind them.”  
  
Harry honestly doesn't know how that might be important. “So?”  
  
Hermione huffs, probably aggravated at Harry's disinterest in this particular mystery. “So? Harry, this means—”  
  
“Nothing,” Harry cuts in. He straightens his spine and clenches his fist, suddenly in no mood to hear anything else about it. “It means nothing. My marks are purple, and that's all there is to it.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Drop it, Hermione.”  
  
He doesn't know what kind of expression he is making, but something in it must convince her to do as he asks, at least for now. Harry loves her, he does, but there are things that they will never agree on, and her insatiable need to know everything sometimes gets on his nerves. Especially if it something regarding his soulmate.  
  
So what if it's uncommon? Harry himself is so far out of the norm that it isn't funny. It actually makes sense, if he sees it in that way.  
  
(Still, he's not about to let people say things, not even his friends. Skull is _his,_ and he will protect him.)  
  
(He ignores the little voice that snidely asks him 'from what?')

“So,” Ron says, breaking the awkward silence. “How is it that you manage that, anyway? Sounds bloody complicated to me.”  
  
Harry snorts, relaxing. “It kinda is. We have to be very careful in how we word things so that they are lies that can be read between the lines to get the true meaning behind it.” He rubs his arm absent-mindedly and smiles. “But… it's worth it.”

His friends smile with him, and Harry is content.

(So, _of course,_ it wouldn't last).


	8. Chapter 8

They get to know each other slowly, tentatively at the beginning. Skull learns that Harry, his soulmate, is skittish but brave, a little thick headed but very forgiving and above all else, inherently good. He's at school and he both loves and hates it, he has no parents and he has no love lost for his relatives, but he considers his friend's family as his own.

Skull tells him about Oodako and his career as a stuntman, about his six fellow Arcobaleno and how they are like family.

He does not mention the curse or the Mafia, because those are things that are better explained in person. He won't actually lie to him—or mislead him, technically, as everything they say is a lie twisted so that it implies the truth. It's a complicated system and it has led them to numerous misunderstandings at the beginning, but they learned quickly to phrase things in a way that conveys what they actually want to say. It has been fun, for all the complications it has brought, and every new bit of information Skull learns of his soulmate endears him more and more to him.

They make it a nightly ritual—there is just an hour difference between Italy and wherever Harry is staying, so it is not difficult to coordinate once they discover that.

It has been almost four months since the day he noticed his mark and started communicating with Harry, and three since it became consistent, so he worries a bit when, one night in June, Harry does not respond to his greeting. It's just a moment and then it passes, because it has happened sometimes before and he knows Harry is in the middle of taking his final exams, so it would not surprise him if the boy just crashed under all the stress.

He worries when the next day is the same, but he tries to convince himself that it is nothing.

Third time is a charm, and now Skull is really worried about his boy, because Harry has always let him know beforehand if he cannot contact him for a long period of time for whatever reason.

When two weeks have passed without a sign of the boy, Skull starts to fret. He does not know how to phrase his worries into a lie so that they reach Harry; he doesn't know if the boy is mad at him, really busy, comatose or even dead. He's scared, he's distracted, and he pays for it with a bullet wound that goes right through his right shoulder. (He messed up his assignment and let his target turn the tides on him. He is lucky he has his flames to heal him by augmenting his healing factor.)

Finally, after a very desperate attempt at the beginning of July, he receives an answer that chills him to the bone.

_There is nothing wrong._

Nothing more.

Skull does not care that he has work to do. He does not care that he doesn't really know where Harry lives, or how he might react to his soulmate looking like a two-year-old baby.

Harry _needs_ him, so Skull is going to _find him._

He is Skull de Mort, amazing stuntman; there is no doubt about that. But he is also Skull, the Cloud Arcobaleno, one of the World's Strongest Selective Seven and as such, he has contacts.

And he is finally going to use them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The semester started on Monday and the demands are insane. I'll keep updating this story, I promise, it'll just be longer between updates than it used to be. Sorry!
> 
> I really like this chapter a lot for some reason, and I hope you enjoy it too! :D

It takes Skull eight long days, numerous chats with different contacts, a hefty sum of money and careful maneuvering to locate Harry's house and keep the real reason hidden, but he finally manages it.

The second he receives the information, he is booking a midnight flight to London and making reservations into a medium class hotel. He coaxes Oodako into her smaller form and prepares a light traveling bag, and then departs from his small apartment in Milan without a backward glance.

He's jittery and anxious and very eager at the same time, and he doesn't believe he would have been able to sleep at all if he weren't a baby. As it is, he falls asleep suddenly half an hour before the plane arrives in England, prompting the stewardess to shake him gently awake after they land.

He thanks her sleepily but honestly and the woman beams and coos at him, telling him he's adorable, and Skull has to fight hard to keep the scowl from his face. He usually does not suffer this kind of treatment as he prefers to travel using means of transport that will not question the piercings and the make-up he favours, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and if it means getting to Harry faster, then Skull is not above removing both and looking his current age.

(He feels a bit naked, without them. He'll reapply them when it's safe again.)

He doesn't know who's more surprised when he knocks at the door of Number Four, Privet Drive, the woman or he. Skull made his background check while searching for information about his soulmate, but even the photos attached to the Dursleys' files weren't enough to prepare him for the sight. Petunia Dursley is tall and thin, has pale blond hair and reminds Skull a bit of a horse. A snotty one. She doesn't see him at the beginning, so he has to knock a second time after she slams the door shut in his face. This time, however, he doesn't bother waiting before squireling inside, and then has to suppress a pained wince after she finally sees him as lets out a high, shrill scream.

“Ma'am, please,” he says after a moment, when Petunia has failed to compose herself and keeps blabbering about children and who knows what else. His squeaky voice shuts her up and Skull feels something inside him relax at the reprieve. “I'm looking for Harry.”

That is, apparently, the wrong thing to say, and if the vile things sprouting from her mouth are anything to go by, then Skull is liking less and less the picture he has put together in regards to his soulmate.

(Missing school, fights, bruises, _troublemaker;_ a school for delinquents in which Harry isn't enrolled but everyone thinks he is, silence—)

His flames react to his mounting ire and they start to leak around him. Angry beyond belief, Skull doesn't keep the tight reign he usually maintains and lets them spread, thick and heavy, dangerous and electric. The woman doesn't seem able to see them, but she surely feels their effect: her words die on her mouth as her eyes grow in size and she hunches her shoulders, making herself look smaller than she is.

“What did you— _stop!_ What are you _doing?_ Stop right this instant! Your… your _kind_ cannot attack us, _they'll_ know!” She gasps and a hand goes to her chest. She takes a step back for every step Skull takes forward, and Skull can practically taste her anxiety rising together with her fear. She's getting desperate. Good.“You're under-aged! Surely, _surely_ your Ministry will punish you if you keep—”

Ministry? What is she talking about? If Skull weren't so angry, he would ask. Instead, he shows her his teeth and looms over her, giant despite his size, and she whimpers.

“Aunt Petunia!” someone hollers as they stomp down the stairs, and the sound is enough to shake Skull out of his trance. At the same time, his leaking flames seize on _something_ that calls and pulls and _soothes_ and—

The horrible woman forgotten, Skull turns to the boy at the bottom of the stairs and declares, _“Mine.”_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, this didn't go as I was planning *shrugs* hope you enjoy anyway!

Harry's not sure what happened.

He had been staring at the ceiling, mind miles away as he thought about the war, about Voldemort, about _Sirius_ and the guilt that weighed heavy in his gut when suddenly Aunt Petunia started screaming.

 _This is it,_ he had thought as he jumped out of bed and rushed downstairs, heart beating madly in his chest and blood rushing in his ears. _This is it, they've found me._

He isn't sure what he was feeling, exactly, as he ran. Dread? Excitement? A little bit of both? He had been feeling so dead before that the sudden rush of adrenaline didn't make it easy for him to distinguish his own emotions now that he had them.

But what he does know is that whatever it was, it changed into wordless surprise as he reached the bottom of the stairs and his gaze fell on the tiny body of the person who was causing Petunia so much terror. Harry stopped, freezing with a hand still on the railing and his mouth half-way open in a word he forgot, mesmerized by the sight of violent _purple fire._ It surrounded the baby as if he were the focus and pressed down on Aunt Petunia, though it didn't seem to burn either of them, and then—

Then the baby turned, quick as a whip, and pinned him down with eyes as purple as the flames, and something in Harry _seized._

“ _Mine,”_ the toddler said in a voice that should have been squeaky, but wasn't. A declaration that shouldn't seem believable—a whim, maybe—but was instead said with all the weight of an absolute truth.

Harry had felt it in his _soul,_ and so had responded in kind.

And that's how he finds himself back in his room, sitting on his bed with the small body in his arms, the door closed and blocked and not particularly caring that he doesn't quite remember what he did between then and now. Skull—because he _is_ Skull, there was no _way_ he could be anyone else, no matter what logic may say—is warm and solid in Harry's embrace, a pulse of _homehomehome_ _belonging_ _home_ that fills Harry with a peace he had forgotten he could ever feel.

“What is…?” he starts, but the words catch on his dry throat and he has to clear it before he tries again. “What's happening? Skull?”

The baby hums against his neck, where he had buried his face the moment Harry had picked him up. “t's 'rmonization,” he says, as if it explains anything. Harry isn't even sure what words he said, but he feels too content to be annoyed. “I dn't 'spect it to f'l dis strong.”

Harry blinks and frowns a bit, then asks, unsure. “It's because we're soulmates?”

“Mmm… no,” Skull says, then sighs. When he speaks next, his words aren't as slurred. “Maybe a little? I don't know many soulmate pairs who are also Harmonized.”

“Harmonized? Is that...” Harry hesitates for a moment, but then remembers the purple fire. There's no way that isn't magic, so he wouldn't be breaking the Statute… right? “Is that some kind of magic?”

“Mmm…” Skull doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he pushes himself away from Harry's neck, then blinks the haze from his eyes. Harry's about to comment, but Skull's gaze suddenly sharpens and then his eyes open impossibly wide. “Wait. You don't know…? Oh, _shit._ How the—” He disentangles himself from Harry's embrace and stands in front of him instead. He's so light the bed barely dips. Harry wants to grab him again, hold him, but Skull looks a bit wild around the eyes, so he doesn't. “How are you _active?_ Your Flames—Tell me you know about Flames.”

Warily, Harry shakes his head and watches on with increasing alarm as Skull runs a tiny hand through his brown—wrong, wrong, _wrong,_ something whispers—hair and paces. He bites his lip, waiting.

“So, okay.” Skull stops and stands in front of Harry, and Harry's suddenly aware of how ridiculously tiny he is, and how that's definitely _not right._ He knows for sure that Skull is at least a few years older than him, so he shouldn't look like a baby. “Flames. They're not… magic, even though they look a lil bit like it. There are seven types, and long story short you're a Sky, the one who keeps all elements together, and I'm a Cloud. Your Cloud. You're _my Sky.”_

There is a special emphasis on the words, coloured with wonder, and Harry can tell that it means something. Something important. He swallows down a lump in his throat and then asks, “You said something about… being, um, active?”

“Ah, yeah. Not everyone can use their Flames, only people who—” Skull's eyes narrow and he studies Harry's face suspiciously. “Only people who had great regrets when they were _about to die.”_

Uh-oh.

“When… and how… Harry?”

The air is charged again, a little bit different from how it was with Aunt Petunia, but still tense and Harry can feel a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. Skull may look like a baby, but Harry has no delusions about his power.

“Um,” Harry says, unsure of what to say or where to begin—his life has been in practically constant danger since he was barely a year old; he has survived more than one brush with death, and they are all one way or the other connected to the Wizarding World, of which Harry's now pretty sure Skull doesn't know about. But… it's _Skull,_ Harry's soulmate, and apparently his Cloud, whatever that means. So he takes a deep breath, looks into purple eyes and says, “Well, I'm a wizard, and there's a war…”


	11. Chapter 11

“We're leaving,” Skull says. His voice is even, barely audible, and it's only his eyes that show the utter rage he feels after listening to Harry's story. There's an itch beneath his skin and his fingers twitch with the barely restrained need to summon his Flames and let them out, let them raze this house, this neighborhood, this entire country and its useless inhabitants to the ground.

He doesn't, even though he dearly wants to, because of Harry. Because Harry loves Britain, loves the Wizarding World. Because even though he doesn't like his relatives, he doesn't wish to bring them harm.

Harry's too good of a soul. Too good for the world, too good for Skull.

(But Harry is _his._ He's Skull's soulmate, Skull's _Sky,_ and there's no way in _hell_ that Skull is going to do anything to make him unhappy. So Britain will stand.)

(Voldemort, on the other hand…)

“What?” Harry asks, blinking and then frowning. “Where?”

Skull shrugs and jumps down from the bed, looking around the room and scowling at the state of it. _Fucking Dursleys._ “Right now? Out of here. My hotel. We have—I have things I need to explain to you, and we need to make plans. Your things are all here?”

“Plans?” Harry flails a little as he hurries to follow him and his legs get caught on the sheets. “Plans for what?”

“Voldy. The war.”

“What?! You can't get involved! It's—It's too dangerous!”

Skull stops to give Harry a deadpan stare. He drops the books he had picked up from the rickety desk inside the mostly-packed trunk and then summons his Flames to his hands with a burst of Will. “I'm hardly powerless, Harry. And you don't even have all the facts. I'll tell you—everything. But first, let's get out of here.”

Harry looks undecided for a second, then stubbornly shakes his head. “I can't. The Order—they're looking over me. Dumbledore said I need to stay here. There are blood wards… protection from Death Eaters.”

Skull raises an eyebrow. “There was nobody here when I came,” he says. “And there's nobody there now.”

Harry opens and closes his mouth, and then he lets his head drop with a groan. “Fletcher. I still don't know why they use him, he's _useless.”_

Skull refrains from pointing out that he considers every single wizard useless. As far as Harry's account of his years in the Wizarding World goes, he can count on one hand the number of times an adult was actually useful.

He had been worried about introducing Harry to the Mafia—now he isn't sure if it wouldn't be better and safer to just take Harry and spirit him away to Italy. The Mafia is terrible, there's no doubt about that, but at least Skull knows this evil and knows how to navigate it. It hadn't been like that when he entered it, no, but he's learned since then.

He doesn't think Harry would be happy with abandoning the wizards to their fate without doing something to help, but he will give him the option anyway.

“I don't know how your wards work,” he admits. “But if it comes to it, I know of a safe-house not too far from where I'm staying. The protections are—more than good. Better. Just. Please.”

Harry doesn't say anything for a moment and Skull deflates. He doesn't want to stay here; he doesn't want to leave Harry here—it's a known location, it's dangerous, it's… Harry is _his Sky._ Skull can and will protect him better than some sketchy wards alone would ever be able to. The itch beneath his skin is still there, not only fueled by anger this time, but also anxiety caused by the need to _protect._

“Okay.”

Surprised, Skull looks at Harry's eyes and he finds only determination there. They hold eye contact for an endless moment, and then Harry says, “I trust you.”

Warmth floods Skull's chest and makes him feel lighter than he has in years.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... oops? In my defense, Uni was killing me. And, uh, I think this is the longest chapter yet? Hopefully, you won't have to wait nearly as long for the next one *laughs awkwardly*
> 
> Enjoy!

They leave quickly, with Skull carrying Harry’s trunk with barely any help from the fifteen-year-old wizard.

It looks ridiculous, and Harry has to force himself to remember that Magic (and, apparently, Magical _Flames_ ) is a thing.

He puts his foot down, however, when they are out of the house and in public. Skull protests at the beginning, saying that nobody actually pays him attention, and while Harry doesn’t really doubt him—he’s seen stranger things, really—he doesn’t want to risk it. They are running away, after all, and even though he’s doing it voluntarily he doesn’t doubt that the Order will immediately assume that he was kidnapped and send a search party to look for him. The less weird they seem, the less attention people will pay to them, and so the less likely it would be for people to identify them. A boy wearing glasses and a grey hoodie, carrying some luggage while a big-eyed toddler trots alongside him babbling happily is not the description any person looking for him will expect, and so they’ll probably just dismiss it. He hopes.

Luckily they don’t have to walk much.

After taking the train to London, Skull discretely guides Harry to what seems like a nice enough hotel. They bypass the reception without a second look at the receptionist and take the lift to the second floor.

When they enter the room, Skull all but wrestles the heavy trunk off Harry’s hands and puts it down at the end of the queen size bed. A small screech makes Harry jump in fright, but then Skull chuckles and coos, hurrying towards the back of the room in which a medium-sized water tank lies. Is that…? Harry blinks. Yes, that’s an octopus. Why…? Oodako!

“Oh. She’s lovely!” he says, approaching cautiously, unsure of his welcome. Even if she looks adorable and domesticated while interacting with Skull, it doesn’t mean she’ll act the same with a stranger.

She turns then, and makes a high-pitched squeal that Harry never knew an octopus was able to make. He could swear she is happy to see him.

Skull laughs, bright and happy. “She likes you! Oodako, this is Harry, my soulmate, my _Sky._ Harry, this is my best friend in the whole world, Oodako.”

Before he knows what’s happening, Oodako has jumped out of her tank, grown three times her size, and wrapped herself all around Harry, giving him the wettest, most enveloping hug he’s ever been given before. He _oofs_ as he falls back, and then laughs at her tittering happy sounds.

“Magic.” He sakes his head, just a little bit stunned. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. “It’s really nice to finally meet you, Oodako.”

Her tentacles squeeze him a little tighter at that, and Harry wheezes.

“Okay, okay, down, girl! He can’t breathe!” says Skull, and Oodako immediately lets him go with an apologetic sound. She’s one of the most intelligent creatures Harry has ever seen, along with his Hedwig, Crookshanks and Buckbeak.

“It’s okay. She’s just happy, aren’t you?”

Skull smiles, a soft fond thing that Harry has not seen before in his face, and Harry coughs, focusing on Oodako to fight down the blush he can feel making way to his cheeks.

They room falls into silence, comfortable and languid, for a few minutes. Then, Oodako goes back to her tiny size and quickly jumps back into her tank, making a little splash. Harry is soaked and feels kinda disgusting, but he hasn’t felt this happy in months.

“Okay, well,” Skull says, clearing his throat and jumping up to the small table in the center of the room. “You should take a shower and change your clothes. There’s… a lot to discuss and I wouldn’t want you to fall ill.”

Harry scratches his nose, then nods. It feels just a little bit awkward, now. Even though he _knows_ Skull, knows he’s his soulmate, they are still strangers, in a way. “Okay,” he says anyway, because he really does feel disgusting, and a little cold. He takes a change of clothes from his trunk and follows Skull’s finger to the bathroom, where he proceeds to take the shortest shower he’s ever taken outside the Dursley’s house. The water’s warm and the pressure is just nice, and he mourns a little for the fact that he can’t stay under it for longer, but his curiosity is bigger than his need to do so. He towels himself dry quickly and then puts on his clean clothes, happy to see that they are ones of the few that actually kinda fit him. When he exits the bathroom, towel around his shoulders, some steam escapes with him.

Skull is waiting for him with breakfast on the table, which is nice, but what really calls his attention and makes him freeze on his spot are the purple hair, the make-up, and the freaking _piercings._

_...Good._

What?

Harry blinks once, twice, and then shrugs. For some reason, he finds the way Skull looks now much less jarring than before.

“So,” he says instead, sitting down in front of his soulmate, who is perched on top of the table, “will you tell me now what… all of this means? Flames? Your…” he waves his hands awkwardly, vaguely in his soulmates’ direction, “size?”

Some of the tension that had drained out of Skull’s shoulders when he didn’t mention anything about his appearance came back, and he sighs. He puts down his fork and runs a tiny hand through purple locks, grimacing.

“Yeah. It’s… well.” He chews on his lip ring for a moment and Harry lets him gather his wits. He knows how difficult it can be to explain something so complex as Magic, and he has a feeling that this is something similar. “You know what Flames are, and how they activate. Well. People notice, and just like your magic, having them make us… the same, in a way.”

Something clicks then. “You have your own secret society,” Harry says in wonder. How haven’t the wizards realized? It was mind-boggling.

Skull nods. “Yeah. But it’s not… it’s not as neat as yours. It’s… underground in a whole different way. It’s the, uh, underworld, if you wish.”

“...you lost me.”

Skull flinches a little and then his shoulders droop. “The Mafia, Harry. The _real_ _Mafia Italiana,_ the underbelly of crime, is populated and governed by Flame Actives.”

Harry has known, since the very beginning, that his soulmate is not what could be considered normal. This, though, is still quite a shock.

“But—but. What does that even mean?” he asks, bewildered. He can't equate the image of this tiny baby being a killer, an assassin for hire. It simply does not compute. Sure, he’d felt this oppressive, dangerous aura back in his aunt’s house, and he already knew Skull is dangerous, but not… not _that_ dangerous.

Skull grimaces and looks to the side, hiding even more of himself by hunching his shoulders, and Harry feels a stab of guilt for making him look so miserable. But—he _needs_ this information. He needs to know that, whatever this means, his soulmate is still _good._ He can’t… he can’t stomach it any other way.

“It’s just how it is. Active Flame users got together way back and created the most powerful Mafia Famiglia ever, and soon others followed their path. Then, later, whenever someone who wasn’t already part of that world managed to activate their own Flames and any mafioso caught wind of it, they’ll be dragged into it, too. It’s the _law,”_ he spat the last bit with such venom that Harry relaxes a bit, instantly sure that even though Skull forms part of it, he didn’t join it willingly.

“But. What do they do, what do they make _you_ do?”

“It depends. It’s different depending on your flame, your worth, if you harmonize or not, the type of Family that gets their claws on you. I’m… I guess I’m one of the not so lucky ones, but not of the worse off. I’m independent.” He shrugs. Looks down at his fork. “I have to play by the rules, but I can follow my own morals, choosing the types of work I take or don’t take. I have to pay for everything myself and I don’t really have a, a support network except for some of the other Arcobaleno, but… it’s not so bad.”

Harry feels his heart constrict at the loneliness that exudes out of Skull and feels himself reaching. The warm, homey feeling he has learned to associate with his Flames touching Skull’s spreads through him, and he can see his soulmate relax.

“You’re not alone anymore, you know?” Harry says, barely above a whisper.

The wonder in Skull’s eyes is a punch to the guts and sunlight in his chest, bursting through him and spilling out as tears of happiness when his soulmate’s answer is “I’m here for you, too.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... hi? I'm sorry I made you wait for so long. I was suffering from a severe case of Writer's Apathy and didn't write anything at all during the second half of 2018. I'm just getting back into the groove.
> 
> Short thing, but I hope you like it anyway!

“Wait, Harry.”

Harry stops on his heels, and it warms Skull’s heart that he trusts him so implicitly. They’ve known each other in person for barely a week, and even with multiple revelations about his world and his role on it, Harry still trusts him.

The boy looks at him, cautious but curious, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

Skull narrows his eyes at their door and pushes out a trail of Flame. There’s something nagging at him. It feels familiar in a way he can’t describe, but he doesn’t trust it. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

There’s someone in their house. In their _safe space._

He growls.

“Uh, Skull?” Harry says after Skull takes a leap up the front steps. His green eyes grow in surprise as they fix to his chest but Skull doesn’t really notice. He’s too focused on the door, on the half-cloaked presence inside, waiting for them.

(He’s not gonna let _anyone_ hurt his Sky. He’s not.)

Skull drops the bag of groceries without care and blasts the door open with a kick enhanced with Flames. He distantly hears Harry’s gasp of surprise as his body changes when he activates his Armored Muscle Body, but he’s too busy reaching for Oodako and trying to locate the intruder to pay him much attention.

It’s dark inside. Someone has dropped the blinds.

Skull scans the room, fingers ready to give orders to his faithful companion, and then there’s a gun in front of him.

A gun.

Harry’s behind him.

Harry’s in _danger._

Pure Cloud Flames burst from him with a roar, covering the place in a matter of seconds. Oodako jump-grows and throws herself at Harry, shielding him with her body with barely a sign from Skull, and Skull _attacks._

There’s a snarl on his lips and rage in his eyes, and he can feel himself _burn_ _._ He’s lost in his bloodlust and attacks, attacks, _attacks,_ not noticing that there are no bullets, not really. Flashes of yellow light mix with his purple, and there’s something familiar in that, but Skull cannot _think._

It’s not until Harry screams his name and reaches with his Flames, soothing and commanding at the same time, that he comes back to his senses and starts to calm down.

His breathing is erratic and he still can’t see or hear well, but the arms of his soulmate around his middle are unmistakable as he’s lifted and hugged. Slowly, slowly, he relaxes enough that sounds and images start to make sense again.

He blinks and realizes he’s hugged into Harry’s chest, his face neatly tucked in the crook of his neck. “Harry...?”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” his soulmate says, relaxing under him. “You’re back.”

“Mmm… what happened?”

“You were _Raging,_ Lackey,” a squeaky voice answers from behind, and Skull tenses as he recognizes it. He quickly turns in the arms of his soulmate and his eyes fall on the small form of the Sun Arcobaleno. His pacifier is bright in Skull’s proximity, and so is Skull’s, though he hadn’t noticed until then.

“Reborn?!”

The Hitman smirks. “The one and only. Now…” He narrows big dark eyes and looks from Skull to Harry and back to Skull again. His hand hovers over Leon. “You better start talking.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! In less than a month! Yay!
> 
> Have a little Reborn POV :-)

Reborn doesn’t know what to think.

He sits on top of the table, facing the Lackey and the boy who’s apparently not only his Sky but his _soulmate_ (the one Reborn has teased—meanly, he knows—Skull of not having for years) and tries to make sense of all the new information he now has.

Who would’ve thought that following his instincts after he realized the Lackey was acting out of character would lead him to discover a completely new world?

(How come nobody in the Mafia appeared to know it existed at all?)

“So. Hiding,” he says, and immediately wants to kick himself. How inarticulate. He doesn’t let his face change at all, because there’s no need to broadcast that he’s uncomfortable. His fedora rests by his side, and Leon is on top of it, watching the SkyWizard-Cloud pair with curious, bulbous eyes.

Skull shrugs from where he’s perched on his Sky’s lap. Reborn can feel their Flames intertwining, calming, and he feels a tinge of jealousy and want.

(The civilian Sky has potent, pure flames. Not as obvious or powerful as the Vongola, or even Aria’s, but still impressive. Feeling them pouring out and containing Skull’s raging Flames when Reborn had unknowingly threatened them both had been a surprise, along with the sheer ferocity of Skull’s attack.

Reborn had been ready to greet Skull the same way he ever did, with a small threat and a gun to the face, and hadn’t expected for everything to go up in literal flames.

He’d seen the signs, when he arrived at the safe-house and looked around for clues, but he hadn’t connected them, not really. Yes, it was obvious that Skull was sharing a room with a teenage male, but Reborn hadn’t even thought about the possibility of them _bonding._

He wasn’t prepared to face a newly bonded, utterly possessive Cloud in protective mode.

His mistake.)

“Yes. They’ll be looking for me, if they haven’t started yet,” the Sky says. “I sent Hedwig, my owl, with a letter to my mates so that they know that I’m okay, but I don’t think the Order will care.”

His owl. Right. Wizards. He sees Leon move on his left and swallows a self-mocking grimace. Since when is he such a hypocrite?

“Let them try,” Skull says, baring his teeth in a way that results disturbingly threatening, coming from him.

The Sky sighs and pokes Skull’s cheek with a finger. “Skull, no. They’re not the enemy.”

“They still can’t protect you better than me,” Skull says, almost pouting. Reborn hates to admit it, but he’s actually with the Lackey in this one. “So they can’t take you away.”

“We should explain things to them,” the boy says. “They’d understand.”

Reborn snorts. “Yes,” he drawls, “I’m sure they will. You just went with your soulmate, who looks like a baby punk, and who is part of the Mafia. Oh, and he also has powers they don’t understand. I’m sure it would go swimmingly.”

The boy scowls at him and Reborn shrugs, unrepentant. It’s only the truth.

The boy’s shoulders slump a bit and he looks morosely down at the top of Skull’s head. “Yeah, you’re right. But I don’t know what else to do! They will find me, and when they do I don’t want them attacking you or, or, or _Obliviating_ you! That’d be a disaster. And there’s also the Death Eaters—they’d do worse than taking your memories if they find us before the Order does.”

Reborn presses his lips together into a tight line and thinks. He doesn’t like this. The boy is not his Sky—he can feel a small thread of Sky attraction to him, but there’s no response from the orange Flames. It’s likely that the boy already has started forming a Sun bond without even knowing it—but he’s Skull’s, and even though they’ve never been particularly _good_ to their young Cloud, he’s still part of their mismatched little family, and so is his Sky.

“We should contact Viper,” he says, standing and picking up his fedora. “They’re the most likely to know something about wizards and what to do about going unnoticed. For the right price, they’d definitely work something out for you.”

Skull’s mouth goes slack and his eyes big with surprised awe, and Reborn has to fight down the impulse to kick him in the head. It wouldn’t do to do that in front of a Sky.

“Thank you, Reborn,” the little Sky says and smiles at him, and Reborn has to look away.

Well, whatever. The world would better appreciate his good deed of the year. He is not about to repeat it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr (@kurosakiami01)!


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